


Laid Bare

by merle_p



Series: Your Body is My Religion [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (Very minor) Knifeplay (sort of), Beards (Facial Hair), Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, First Time, Getting Together, Historical, Lap Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Nicky is head over heels, Porn with Feelings, Seriously so much shaving, Shaving, Top!Nicky, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: “What are you doing?” he frowned, looking up at Yusuf who was standing far too close, feeling hot and nervous underneath Yusuf’s contemplative gaze.“Saving myself from the misery of having to look at your face after you shave yourself,” Yusuf said dryly, and tested the sharpness of the razor with his thumb.(In which Yusuf shaves Nicolo, and they are in love.)Your Body is my Religion: Part 4: Ritual
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Your Body is My Religion [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846351
Comments: 88
Kudos: 1018





	Laid Bare

**Author's Note:**

> Just 4000 words of shaving porn and feelings. Because clearly that's what this fandom needs, haha.
> 
> (If for whatever reason the porn isn't holding your attention and you are actually more interested in the historical peoples and places that are mentioned in passing in this fic, see end notes for a bit of context.)

He pulls himself up and out of the water, settling down on the rocks to let the sun and the breeze dry his wet bare skin. There is no need to get dressed in a hurry – it has been four days since they saw another human soul, and there is no reason to expect that this would suddenly change.

Nicolo reaches for the small lump of soap and the cup of water laid out next to him on the rock. He whips the soap into a lather, methodically but distractedly, as he watches Yusuf dip underwater one last time and shake out his curls, droplets glistening in the sunlight like tiny crystals suspended in the air.

Yusuf wipes the water out of his eyes and blinks, smiling when he sees that Nicolo is watching him. He wades in Nicolo’s direction, towards the corner of the lake where the water is shallow, lapping up against the group of flat rocks that has served as their _tablinum_ for the past two days. The water parts for him reluctantly, hesitantly revealing more of his body with every step he takes toward the shore, and to Nicolo’s eyes it looks almost as if the lake is unwilling to let him go.

Nicolo can relate. 

It is the Year of the Lord 1102, and likely sometime in July, although Nicolo has lost track of the exact date a good while ago. It has been more than two years now since fate forcefully intervened in Nicolo’s plan to sacrifice his life for a goal he no longer understands, since he made a choice not to reach for his sword but instead for the hand extended towards him, since he found new purpose in following this strange, beautiful man, whom he has come to trust with his body and mind in every possible way.

Some weeks ago, they crossed into the vast, strange land of Cumania that Nicolo had only ever heard people vaguely speaking of before. The Cuman are a nomadic people, their temporary settlements spread out far apart, and the groups they have run into have been willing enough to trade them food and otherwise shown little interest in them. This means that much of their time is spent alone, with no one but each other for company, but Nicolo finds that he rarely misses the presence of others with Yusuf at his side.

“What are you thinking about?” Yusuf asks now, jumping up onto the rock and leaning in for a kiss, dripping cold lake water onto Nicolo’s sun-warm skin. Nicolo shivers ever so slightly as he tilts his head back and opens his lips to let him in. Yusuf’s wet beard is dragging against the wiry hair now covering most of Nicolo’s cheeks, and Nicolo is already eager for the feeling of Yusuf’s curls against his own smooth clean-shaven skin.

“Nothing,” he says lightly, once Yusuf eventually breaks the kiss. “I am ready if you are.”

“You are sure you don’t want to let it grow?” Yusuf asks, like he always does, although it’s mostly to tease Nicolo at this point.

Still, “I’m sure,” Nicolo says, like he always does, because he secretly enjoys the way it sounds like a commitment, if not to Yusuf, then at least to his own ears.

The first time Yusuf had seen him shaving, he had observed the ritual with faint amusement and intrigued curiosity.

They were just north of Damascus, trying to put as much space as they could between themselves and the fight, desperate to get away from the wretched unholy war that was still raging at their backs.

They were moving at a brutal pace, avoiding towns and traveling long days, and the hot dry air had made Nicolo’s beard start to itch in uncomfortable ways.

“You don’t have lice,” Yusuf said, his intonation still sounding foreign to Nicolo’s ears, even though his use of the lingua franca was perfectly competent.

“Why do you remove your beard?”

Nicolo would have shrugged, but it seemed difficult to do while he was running the sharp blade of the razor along his jaw. He was using his tin plate as a makeshift mirror, which was only minimally better than navigating blind.

“It’s customary for our priests to shave their beards,” he finally said and wiped the blade clean on a small cloth before once more pressing it carefully against his skin.

“You are not a priest now,” Yusuf said. There was no mockery behind the words, but Nicolo winced a little nonetheless.

“I’m used to it now,” he answered, not quite evasively. He tipped his head back and carefully dragged the knife downward along the line of his throat, trying to ignore the way Yusuf tracked every movement of his hands with steady eyes. “In this weather, the beard is too hot.”

“Hm,” Yusuf said merely, and seemed content to just watch him work for a while. He waited until Nicolo was done with the sensitive area around his Adam’s apple before he finally spoke up again.

“I’ve been told that God wants men to grow their beards. You have been told that God wants his priests to shave. You don’t find that strange?”

Nicolo took his time cleaning the razor so he didn’t have to look Yusuf in the eye.

“I don’t,” he said eventually, “because your God and my God are not the same.”

“Are you sure?” Yusuf asked, a strange undercurrent in his voice, and Nicolo looked up at him then, his breath catching at the expression on Yusuf’s face.

“No,” he finally admitted, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

It was a helpless, inadequate answer, but oddly, Yusuf seemed satisfied nonetheless.

He came a little closer, bending down so he could look Nicolo directly in the eye, and Nicolo sat unmoving, frozen in place, feeling trapped underneath the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” he finally forced out, his tongue strangely heavy against his teeth, and tried not to jump when for but a moment, two fingers lightly grazed his cheek.

“You missed a spot here,” Yusuf smirked, his eyes twinkling, and then he straightened and walked away.

Nicolo stared after him, and despite the relief of finally feeling the wind on his bare face again, he was frustrated and unsettled for the rest of the day.

Now, at the lake in Cumania, Yusuf’s palm is splayed wide against Nicolo’s jaw as they kiss again. Nicolo brings up a hand between them to drag his fingernails gently through the coarse hair on Yusuf’s chest, and Yusuf hums contently in response against Nicolo’s half-open lips. Finally, Yusuf leans across his lap without breaking the kiss, reaching for the razor with his free hand, and Nicolo can’t quite suppress a quiet moan in anticipation of the ritual they have created for themselves.

Immediately he regrets his momentary lack of control, because Yusuf pulls back abruptly at the sound. There is a speculative expression on his face as he looks Nicolo in the eye before his gaze drops down to Nicolo’s lap, where his heavy cock is resting against the crease of his thigh, already more than half hard.

“You really enjoy this,” Yusuf says slowly, almost in wonder, and Nicolo shrugs and averts his eyes.

“I like kissing you,” he says, not a lie as much as an omission, but Yusuf is too observant to let himself be distracted that easily.

“No,” he says, still watching him carefully as he runs the pad of his index finger over the sharp edge of the knife.

“You enjoy me putting a blade to your throat.”

Nicolo is mortified to feel himself flushing furiously. “It’s not like that,” he says finally, a little resigned. “I can do it myself if it bothers you,” he adds uncertainly, and is both reassured and further embarrassed by Yusuf’s amused, incredulous huff.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says mildly, but he still straightens and sets the razor back onto the rock.

“What …” Nicolo starts, confused, but whatever he might be tempted to say is cut off by Yusuf’s fingers against his mouth.

“Just be patient for a moment,” he instructs him, and so Nicolo stays where he is, his eyes following Yusuf as he climbs up the rocks, still fully naked, and heads to the spot of grass underneath the wide tree where their saddlebags are safely stored and the donkeys are resting in the shade.

The next time Nicolo had sat down to shave, Yusuf came over and wordlessly took the razor from his hand.

They were traveling through the Kingdom of Georgia, and had set up camp a good distance north of Kutaisi. The faces of the two strange women were still haunting their dreams, and since they didn’t have anywhere else to go, trying to find them seemed as good a plan as any other possibility.

“We have to head northeast,” Yusuf had said, after an especially vivid dream had woken them both from their sleep. “They are dressed in the clothes of Khitan warriors, even though they don’t look very much like them.”

The name hadn’t meant anything to Nicolo, who had never traveled further than Florence before coming to the Holy Land to fight a war, but he had trusted Yusuf’s assessment without reservations, and it had not been as terrifying a realization as he had thought it might be.

He was far less certain, however, whether he should be trusting him with his skin.

“What are you doing?” he frowned, looking up at Yusuf who was standing far too close, feeling hot and nervous underneath Yusuf’s contemplative gaze.

“Saving myself from the misery of having to look at your face after you shave yourself,” Yusuf said dryly, and tested the sharpness of the razor with his thumb.

“Why would you know how to do it better?” Nicolo asked, perhaps a little too defensively. “You don’t even shave yourself.”

“I shave,” Yusuf said evenly, but there was a hint of amusement lurking around the edges of his voice. “Just not my face. And you do have a lovely profile but your jaw is still not as delicate as my balls.”

Nicolo looked away, his face aflame. “Fine,” he said, only a little grudgingly, and offered Yusuf the soap dish he already had prepared. “But if you accidentally kill me, you will have to clean up the mess.”

“Your conditions are fair,” Yusuf agreed, nodding gravely, although he looked very much like he was struggling to bite back a laugh.

His eyes grew serious, though, as soon as he actually set to work, and his fingers were surprisingly gentle on Nicolo’s face when he distributed the slick soap across Nicolo’s cheeks.

Eventually he wiped his hands on his tunic and moved to stand behind Nicolo’s back, placing one broad palm underneath his jaw, square between the edge of his chin and the curve of his throat.

“Lean your head back,” he said quietly, and Nicolo swallowed thickly and obeyed, feeling at once vulnerable and strangely safe with this throat exposed and the back of his head resting lightly against Yusuf’s firm abdomen.

Yusuf was thorough and methodical, and his hand never slipped once. He might never have shorn a beard before, but he was clearly skilled at the task, and despite his best efforts Nicolo couldn’t fend off the image of Yusuf’s steady hand around the knife as he removed his own pubic hair, couldn’t help but wonder whether Yusuf was as careful with his own body as he seemed to be with Nicolo’s face.

Yusuf worked in silence, just hummed to himself when he got to one of the difficult spots, but eventually he made a satisfied noise and set down the knife. Nicolo exhaled a shaky breath, both relieved that it was over and dreading the moment when Yusuf would take his hands off him.

But the moment never came. Yusuf kept the fingers of his left hand curled lightly around Nicolo’s throat as he reached for a fresh cloth, cleaned Nicolo’s face of soap residue and stray hairs, then dropped the piece of fabric to the ground next to his feet without much care.

“Hmm,” he said, a thoughtful curiosity in his voice that Nicolo wasn’t quite able to place, and then he slowly set his free hand against the curve of Nicolo’s cheek. He lightly ran his thumb over Nicolo’s cheekbone, trailed a finger down his nose and chin, and finally his fingertips came to rest against the corner of Nicolo’s lips.

“So smooth and soft,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Almost like a woman, or a boy.”

Nicolo suddenly felt very weak, and he was glad for the hand on his jaw holding him upright. It wasn’t as if something like this had never happened, but he had been much, much younger at the time. As a grown man, he knew convention demanded he should bristle at the implication of the role he was meant to play, but he found it difficult to care, because never before had he _wanted_ anything as much as he wanted to be touched right now by this man.

“Would you prefer it if I were?” he asked quietly without turning his head, because it was easier to speak without seeing the expression on Yusuf’s face.

“No,” Yusuf said firmly, without hesitation, and leaned down towards him, his chin on Nicolo’s shoulder and his mouth so close to Nicolo’s ear that he could feel Yusuf’s breath like a caress on his skin.

“I count myself lucky that you are neither,” he continued, and placed a feather-light kiss against the side of Nicolo’s neck.

“Because I want you to take me, if you are willing," he said, and there was really nothing Nicolo could do but comply.

Nicolo idly thinks back to the long exquisite hours that had followed, and he resists the urge to wrap a hand around his cock while he is waiting for Yusuf to return. It only becomes more difficult not to touch himself when he watches Yusuf coming back the way he went, looking like a Greek faun as he climbs over the rocks, his sun-kissed skin glowing golden in the warm light of the afternoon.

“Here,” Yusuf says and presses a small vial into Nicolo’s hand. When Nicolo realizes what he is holding, his already interested cock continues to grow, and he awkwardly puts his free hand in his lap to shield it half-heartedly from view.

“Nonono,” he says, his voice wavering despite his efforts to keep it firm. “You need to shave me first. We will never get it done if we do this now.”

Yusuf grins, as if he knows a secret Nicolo doesn’t, and blows a chaste kiss against Nicolo’s cheek.

“Have a little faith,” he says and settles down on Nicolo’s knees, one leg folded up on either side of his thighs. In the narrow space between their bellies, their erect cocks are just barely touching, and Nicolo has to dig his nails into his palms so as not to embarrass himself at the breathtaking sight.

Yusuf raises a brow at him expectantly, and Nicolo blankly stares back at him, far too aroused to think clearly and thoroughly confused.

“You want my hand?” he asks, not entirely opposed to the prospect, but Yusuf shakes his head and gestures at him.

“For yourself,” he says, and then, clearly impatient with Nicolo’s lack of understanding or his own inability to make himself understood, he pulls the small bottle from Nicolo’s fingers and pours some of the oil onto his own hand.

He wraps his fingers around Nicolo’s cock, sliding them up and down with practiced ease, and it feels good, amazing even, even though Yusuf’s movements are slightly more perfunctory than they usually are. He stops again after only a couple of strokes, apparently satisfied with his work, and then proceeds to rest his slippery palms on Nicolo’s shoulders so he can push himself upward, away from Nicolo’s thighs.

“Come on,” he urges, a hint of desperation behind his words, and Nicolo understands, at last, what it is that Yusuf wants from him.

A surge of want runs through his body even as a small part of him still thinks he should protest. But he is staring right at Yusuf’s magnificent chest, and Yusuf’s balls are brushing softly against the tip of Nicolo’s straining cock, and Nicolo already doesn’t remember why he was supposed to be resisting him.

He takes hold of his oil-slick cock and steers it upwards, his other hand sliding around Yusuf’s hip to settle in the small of his back, and then he holds his breath, enthralled, as Yusuf starts to lower himself down again.

When Nicolo’s cock finally rests against his hole, Yusuf pauses, and Nicolo marvels at his expression, the intense focus in his eyes and the reckless passion lurking just underneath. Nicolo tilts his face up slightly, silently begging for a kiss, and Yusuf accommodates him, licking into his mouth, before he braces himself and forces his body to open up for Nicolo’s cock. Their kiss falters, both of them too overwhelmed to focus on it, and their foreheads come together as Yusuf breathes through the pain of the initial intrusion and Nicolo forces himself to stay still.

Then suddenly, it’s done; Yusuf is fully impaled on Nicolo’s cock, straddling his thighs, and Nicolo stares into his eyes, feeling helpless and inadequate, at a loss for words to express all the things he feels and wants to say.

Yusuf smiles at him softly, and Nicolo waits for his sign, for him to move or to tell him that he is ready, but instead that smile slowly turns into a mischievous grin.

“Now I will shave you,” Yusuf says, sounding rather satisfied.

Nicolo stares, his mouth open. “This is insane,” he says incredulously. “You want to use the razor on me while you are …” He gestures. “… like this?”

Yusuf shrugs with a studied casualness that cannot possibly be genuine. “Just hold very still,” he smirks, “so I don’t accidentally slit your throat.”

Very carefully, he stretches out an arm to reach for the soap, shifting ever so slightly in Nicolo’s lap, and they both freeze and moan in unison at the spark that races through them.

“Huh,” Yusuf says shakily, and takes a deep breath. “This will be interesting.”

He takes his time, carefully slathering the soap onto Nicolo’s beard, and Nicolo could almost believe that he is really at ease if it wasn’t for the feeling of Yusuf’s thighs trembling against his.

By the time Yusuf reaches for the razor, beads of sweat are running down Nicolo’s back, and the sensation of Yusuf’s body around his cock is slowly but surely driving him mad. Yusuf’s pupils are blown wide with desire and his breath is shallow and fast, but his features are determined as he tangles his left hand in Nicolo’s hair.

“Don’t move,” he says, unnecessarily, and Nicolo cannot decide whether he wants to swear at him in every language he knows or tear his heart out of his chest and present it to him as a sacrifice.

In the end he does neither, just clenches his teeth and digs his fingers into the delicious swell of Yusuf’s ass, sitting as still as he can while Yusuf tugs his head backward and starts to drag the sharp blade across his skin.

In the silence between them, their breaths gradually align, until each inhale and exhale are perfectly synchronized. The sweet ache of Yusuf’s heat enveloping him has not disappeared but feels less urgent now, has become a _constant_ , a steadying counterweight to the delicious torment of Yusuf’s knife scraping against his skin.

“I was not sure you would really let me do this,” Yusuf suddenly admits, sounding awestruck and a little bewildered, his knife still tracing the line of Nicolo’s jaw. “I know we can't seem to die, but still, you must trust me, or you would have said no.”

Nicolo swallows, feeling sensitive and raw. “I am utterly mad about you,” he confesses, the simple, terrible truth spilling out of him.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do if you asked me to.”

Nicolo cannot see Yusuf’s face, but he hears the sharp, shocked breath Yusuf draws at his words, feels his hand falter, his fingers twitch, then the sudden searing pain on the side of his neck as the blade slips and slices through his skin.

“Christ,” he curses, dimly hears the sound of the abandoned razor dropping onto the rock, and then Yusuf’s hands are on his face, and Yusuf’s mouth is on his neck, his tongue running over the cut that is already closing again on its own.

In an instant, all the lust, the desire Nicolo was so carefully controlling is threatening to overwhelm him. His hands are sliding up Yusuf’s sides and roaming his back before dropping down to his ass again, digging hard into the flesh, and he almost faints when Yusuf’s body spasms in response around his cock.

“Enough already,” Yusuf pants against his neck, “it’s too much, come on,” and Nicolo doesn’t even need to be told. His hands are forcing Yusuf down onto his cock even as his hips buck upwards into him, and Yusuf clings to his shoulders while Nicolo fucks him hard with all the force of the last hour’s pent-up energy, rutting against him, trying to get _deeper_ and whining in frustration when he can’t.

Between them, Yusuf’s cock is leaking, smearing precome against Nicolo’s skin, and Nicolo groans and bends his head so he can catch Yusuf’s clavicle between his teeth.

Yusuf sobs and comes, untouched, his entire body shaking with the force of his climax, and watching and feeling his lover come undone in his lap is enough to push Nicolo over the edge as well. They cling to each other, trying to get closer still, until they are sealed together from head to groin, their hearts beating next to each other, for each other, and Nicolo captures Yusuf’s mouth, desperate to share his breath as well.

It’s a long time before Nicolo feels like moving, before he feels ready to relinquish his hold on Yusuf’s hips. Even then, he only shifts back slightly, just far enough for him to see Yusuf’s face, and he finds Yusuf looking at him with an expression of naked adoration that is almost too much for Nicolo to bear.

Then Yusuf’s hand comes up to pet Nicolo's cheek idly, a slow, delighted smile transforming his face.

“I never finished with the right side,” Yusuf says, his belly shaking with suppressed laughter, and Nicolo groans and lets his forehead fall forward against Yusuf’s again.

Looking down between them, he takes in the sight of their bodies, covered in the evidence of their love-making: Yusuf’s hands are slick with oil, Nicolo’s cheeks are covered in soap, and there must be dried blood flaking off the side of his neck. They are dripping with sweat, Yusuf’s semen a sticky mess on his belly, and Nicolo can already feel his own release slowly dripping back out onto his thighs.

“What was the point of going to for a swim,” he asks, exasperatedly, “if you were just going to make such an utter mess of us?”

Yusuf laughs quietly, and runs a finger through his come on Nicolo’s stomach, a movement that makes Nicolo’s cock twitch weakly, impossibly, inside of Yusuf’s body once again.

“We have time,” Yusuf says, “the sun is not going to set for another two hours at least. So we’ll go back into the water, and I’ll finish the shave.” He smiles. “And then, if we feel like it, we can do this all over again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note on Locations (because that's clearly the most important part of this fic, LOL): The journey Yusuf and Nicolo are on here basically takes them from the territory of today's Israel to Syria (Damascus), through Eastern Turkey into Georgia (The Kingdom of Georgia at the time), then further north along the Caspian Sea and into today's Kazakhstan, a territory that at the time was called Cumania, a Turkic confederation of two nomadic people, of which the Cumans were one. They are trying to reach the area of contemporary Mongolia, where they suspect that Andy and Quynh might be living among the Khitans, a para-mongolic nomadic people living in the area.
> 
> Also, they have donkeys. Because I wanted them to.


End file.
